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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698868">in the way to Shur</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed'>wreathed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Biblical References, Coming Untouched, Fantasizing, Ficlet, Gender Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Religious Guilt, Shame, Shame John Irving Power Thirty Seconds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:08:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying prone, Irving bolts awake, no bell to blame for having roused him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cornelius Hickey/Lt John Irving, Lt John Irving/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fingerbang #4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in the way to Shur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lying prone, Irving bolts awake, no bell to blame for having roused him.</p><p>His brain is fogged from insalubrious dreams; he sweats damp under his blankets while other men freeze on the fo'c'sle. Irving longs to join them in toil, for he does not deserve to rest when his mind insists on shameless performances more lewd than an evening of variety at the Grecian Saloon.</p><p>Third lieutenant of a great ship, and somewhat too old for the position at that, yet mastery over his own licentious preoccupations evades him. Why must he be cursed so, while most of the men were so full of sin and yet so untroubled by it?</p><p>He shifts against the bed, intending to rise and plunge himself into his icy washbasin, but the movement sends out a fresh spill of viscous secretion from where he is achingly tumescent. A shock of horrible pleasure runs through him, and spit joins his sweat on the pillow as he bites down to muffle his moan.</p><p>What if he has it wrong: what if his constant mental turmoil, despite his stringent physical abstinence, sums up to more sin all together than those who give themselves efficient release before resuming their duties, despoiled but blissfully emptied of incessant desire for a time?</p><p>Can’t be right. He mustn’t give in. All worldly things end, including this voyage — perhaps by next year — but hellfire is eternal.</p><p>Aboard together, their fates combine. Whoever else sails — including that ignorant Caulker’s Mate whom Irving distrusts, who asks Irving impudent questions after Divine Service when he turns up to Divine Service at all — God will see Irving’s efforts and so show him the Passage.</p><p>He had been dreaming of a life where he had turned his hand to homestead management more successfully, and not alone; of Edward Little, a young, handsome man from a family of sensible eligibility.</p><p>He must not think like that. The ship pitches synchronously with his fetid mind, and Irving’s hips jerk miserably against the mattress. There is an unbearable tightening of his heated flesh.</p><p>It is not as if he could ever become a well-matched bride plagued by this monstrous thing. If only it could be removed.</p><p>Hickey; that was the Caulker's Mate's name. Irving recalls his smooth hands pointing incorrectly heavenward and his dangerous lack of obedience. He would not be respectful of Irving’s wishes nor of his protests.</p><p><i>Terror</i> rolls once more from the slosh of the ocean and, to Irving’s horror, his prick spends from nothing but his addled thoughts and the pressure of the bedlinens, staining his smallclothes and his nightshirt — deuce, nearly up to the collar; some settles on his jaw, making him shudder in disgust — in a manner that will be impossible for Mister Gibson not to notice.</p><p>A fecund gushing, dissolutely wasted. Irving thinks of Hagar fleeing Sarai, intercepted by the angel of the Lord at a fountain in the wilderness. England awaits them. <i>Return to thy mistress, and submit thyself under her hands.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Genesis 16:7-9 (KJV)</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://wreathedwith.tumblr.com/post/625474414024228864/in-the-way-to-shur-wreathed-the-terror-tv">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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